I was born in a Tiger year. My grandparents said it was a good year. I am their first grandchild and surly caught much attention, especially from my grandpa. Although he tried to treat all of his grandchildren fairly and actually did very well, I always know I am his favorite one. We had similar personalities, interests and values. We spent years together, visited each other, wrote many many letters to each other till he was too old to write. The bond between my grandparents and I is extraordinary. They are my first lighthouse, and forever anchor of life.
When I was one and half years old, a deadly earthquake occurred in Tangshan, a city about 100 miles away from Beijing. To escape from the aftershock, my parents sent me to Shanghai to stay with my grandparents temporarily. Well, that was the original plan. Later the temporary stay turned to be much longer, eventually more than four years till I had to go back Beijing for school. From what I heard, part of the reasons was I refused to go to daycare, which was what I had to do in Beijing since both my parents were working, and the other reason was my grandpa could not bear to let me leave him.
Grandpa had not been retired at that time. Most time of the week, my cousin and I stayed with Grandma. My grandma is a very gentle and elegant lady, never spoke loudly. She was raised in a well family, with maids and a big house. Unfortunately everything changed after wars. She had to learn to take care of all the chores and raise children by herself. My cousin is several months younger than me. Grandma was our first teacher, teaching us reading, writing, calligraphy, math, Tang poetry, as she did to my father, uncle and aunt. She must be an excellent teacher, as my father, uncle and aunt all went to top schools and have admiring calligraphy. My grandma loves Tang Song poetry and Yue opera. For many years after I returned to Beijing, I always recite one poem or ci for her at the end of my letter. Those poems soften my heart and connect her to me every time when I read them.
Sunday was absolutely the highlight of each week. Living in a busy and crowded city like Shanghai, kids had rare opportunities to play outdoors. In sunny Sundays, Grandpa would bring us to parks to meet his brothers and friends. Sometimes we got a treat, sometimes a book; I read every street name and shop sign along the way, but my favorite part was to climb in the playground. Other people said I was "too bold to be a girl", but Grandpa told me girls had no difference to boys; girls could be able to do everything boys could, like Mulan. He never said something like "dream big, fly high", but I knew he would support all my adventurous decisions and encourage me all the way along, because he was also an adventurer. In the year when he was 15, he traveled to Qiantang River by himself to shoot pictures of the famous high tide. And in the year when I was 15, he experienced some adventurous moments together with me and witnessed my growth.
When I was 15, my whole family was in America except me, so my grandpa came to Beijing to live with me for a year. That was my last year before high school. School work was heavy and I was sometimes stressed out, hiking at weekend is something soothed me. Simply packed with bottle water and some bread, my 73-year-old grandpa and I were heading to places we both liked. We stopped at creeks to refill water, bought watermelons for lunch, explored unpaved trails to avoid the crowd and seek other creatures. We didn't have GPS, maps, or even trail signs back then, but never got lost in mountains until one day. I could not tell if Grandpa was panic because he's always calm in my mind, but I knew I was not because I had him by my side. It was such a long day that we encountered many up and downs, critical turning decisions, even discussed overnight hike. Luckily, around 9 o'clock in the evening, after another hill, we saw the village and bus stops from halfway of the mountain. Although there was still over an hour to finish, we were so happy to find our way...
Grandpa and I always have something to chat, from history and culture to science and philosophy. I used to lie down on the floor by his bed and chat with him till falling in sleep. Grandpa started learning English when he retired. He read newspaper and novels in English, listened to radio stations in English, taught me grammar and vocabulary, and even started writing letters in English with me. I have a box in my drawer keeping all of his letters to me from my elementary school to graduate school. My last letter to him was placed by his head at his funeral. I believe he has carried it with him in heaven. Nowadays although I don't physically write letters to him anymore, I often wrote one in my mind and received his messages back.
I will forever remember the old time when my grandma was preparing my favorite dishes, I was the only one being allowed to sit besides my grandpa when he had a small glass of wine before dinner, and took a lick of the wine from the tip of his chopsticks. I can smell the delicious dinner, which is the smell of yearning.
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